


Weirwood Wife

by CadenceIX



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon - show, F/M, Post - Season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 19:09:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12019164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CadenceIX/pseuds/CadenceIX
Summary: Meddling advisers and stubborn lords lead to complications in Jon and Daenerys' budding romance, forcing Jon to act in the interest of the Starks above all else.





	1. A Vow to Break

**Author's Note:**

> This was written all in one go with no planning and hasn’t been truly touched up or edited beyond basics, so pardon if it seems a bit dry in places and weird slips or repeats. I didn't even have a title in mind, so it may change one day. 
> 
> This is based on show canon through season 7, but it isn’t what I think will happen. It’s intended more as an experiment, a kind of response to some problems I have with tropes I've seen becoming more common. 
> 
> Tyrion comes off a bit poorly, but I like the idea that he’s a well meaning but poor adviser, so used it along with northern lords being idiots. 
> 
> I took a few liberties with characters at times, but typically tried to keep them close to how they’re presented in my view, their behavior hopefully explained by shifted actions.

For all Jon had looked forward to coming home, he wished he never had. He wished he had ridden North to face the Night King and everything that was coming. Even if he had to go alone, to die alone, he’d have done it to protect his family. But now they’re gone. He doesn’t have a family. He never did. 

“Your name is Aegon Targaryan.”

It hurt worse than a knife in the heart. He’d take a dozen of them if it meant he could just be Jon Snow. If Eddard Stark could be his father. He wouldn’t care if his mother was some whore, if she never loved him or gave him away because he was just as much an awful reminder of the man she could never be with as he was a reminder to Catelyn Tully of her husbands supposed infidelity. 

Everything he’s done, everything he’d achieved had been done as Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell, and now he wasn’t even a bastard. 

“Jon.”

He felt his body tense at the whisper from Arya. He’d been so happy to see her he worried he might have crushed her with his hug if she wasn’t as strong as he knew she was. And now, barely hours later, he turned to find her staring at him with smudged tears around her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Arya,” he whispered, turning back to weirwood tree his father-uncle would sit to clean Ice. 

Walking toward him she shook her head. “Why are you sorry? I’m sorry.”

“Because,” he laughed bitterly, staring at the black water of the pond before them. “You had two brothers. Now you only have one.”

Arya frowned, but quickly hid it as she pushed his shoulder. “Don’t think this gets you out of being my brother. It’ll take a lot more than this.”

Jon looked to her and smiled. “I know. No matter what I am, you’re still my sister.”

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, how long he’d been adrift in his mind, but when she reached out to give his hand a supportive squeeze it felt like the first piece of solid earth he felt underfoot. Of course it would come from Arya Underfoot. “Whatever happens, I’m on your side.”

Jon looked to her and knew she would be. He could declare his intention to take the Iron Throne by force, and she would do everything she could to help him. Instead he shook his head. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“I doubt that,” Arya snorted. “This… it might not change us, but it changes a lot. Enough that it could be a problem.”

“It won’t. There isn’t time.” He frowned, looking back at the black pool and remembering himself sinking into black water beneath ice, knowing he had to get back up or else his family would die. The family that was never his. “I won’t let it.” Even as he spoke it, he knew it was another vow he would break.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

“This will be difficult,” Tyrion said with a sigh. “It already was before, but this won’t help.”

Daenerys sat staring at the fire of the room they’d been provided as Tyrion helped himself to a glass of wine. 

“If it’s true, if this isn’t some game, then it makes him-”

“It’s not a game,” Daenerys interrupted, turning to look at Tyrion as he moved to the seat beside her. “You saw him.”

Tyrion frowned thinking back to the king’s clear devastation as he learned his life was a lie. “I know,” he sighed, taking a long drink. “Still, it’s a problem.”

Daenerys glanced at him before returning her eyes to the fire. “You can’t actually think he wants it. He wouldn’t take it from me.”

“It depends.” Tyrion tapped the brim of his glass, thinking. “He could claim it, force you to accept his role, and give the north their freedom that way. They’re already on edge because of us being here. It would be an easy way to regain their favor.”

“He wouldn’t claim it.”

“He could threaten to, though,” Tyrion reminded. “Even if he never claims, it will be a card he holds, a dagger to our throats.” Daenerys frowned, clearly not liking his way of thinking, so Tyrion decided to offer a silver lining. “We can use your relationship to remove it.”

Daenerys turned to him. “What?”

“I’m a dwarf, your grace,” he said with a teasing smile, “not a fool.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I meant what do you mean about using it. It’s not something to be used.”

“But it can be,” he grinned at his cleverness. “Make a union. Marry him, have him be a king consort, let him have his rightful place while you remain as queen.”  
“I-” She stopped herself, sighing and looking to the fire. “I won’t just use him to get what I want.”

“Why not? You’re queen. Maybe your claim isn’t as good as his, but neither was Roberts, and he took the crown.”

Daenerys shot Tyrion a glare that made him realize what he’d done. “I’m not some usurper.”

“Forgive me, your grace,” Tyrion bowed his head. “I merely mean to say that you’ve earned your place atop the throne. A better claim shouldn’t stand in the way of all you’ve done, of everything you’ve earned.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

The sun had set and Jon sat in his chambers wishing the ale he downed would destroy the knot in his stomach. His eyes lingered on the crackling flames, shifting toward his burned hand. A snort forced it’s way through him, dismissive and cold as he thought, ‘A real Targaryan wouldn’t burn.’

He’d heard the tales. Some from her men, others from her as they lay in bed on their way to White Harbor. 

“Why Unburnt?” he’d asked laying in her bed after cleaning themselves.

“I walked into a funeral pyre. It birthed my dragons and left me untouched.” She wore a sad smile, resting her head on his shoulder. “Fire cannot kill a dragon.”

He wasn’t a real Stark and he wasn’t a real Targaryan. Maybe he should go to the faceless men. He was already no one. Maybe it was best he just accept it.

That was how he found himself knocking on her door. His burned hand clenching, fingers brushing the rough skin, reminding himself this was what he had to do. 

The door cracked open and he was met by a somber, warm smile that grew as the door opened. “Jon,” Sansa whispered, surprised and glad. 

“Can I?” He nodded into her room.

“You may.” She stepped aside and he held back a chuckle at her subtle grammatical correction. He could only imagine her and Davos sat behind him correcting him with mays and fewers. 

Once he was inside and she closed the door her took a breath and turned to her. His hands rubbed against each other in a final reminder of what he wasn’t. 

“You have to make sure they don’t do anything stupid.”

His sudden proclamation left her confused as she made her way to her desk, furrowing her brow. “What do you mean?”

“When you take it,” he said meeting her eyes. “When they give it to you.”

Sansa’s confusion fell to a frown understanding what he meant. “Jon, I’m not taking it. I won’t.”

A bitter smile flashed across his lips. “I’m not an idiot Sansa. I know I seem it, but I’m no fool.”

“I don’t think you a fool.”

“When they find out everything, they’re going to damn me. They’re going to give you the crown and they’re going to turn against Daenerys.” She was going to speak but he cut her off. “You can’t let them. You need to make sure they put aside whatever they feel and face north. We can’t spare a single man now they’re past the wall. I won’t have them die because they’re too foolish in their anger over me.”

Sansa wasn’t sure whether to frown or smile. “Jon. They don’t have to find out. I know you thought it best she know, but if Daenerys and her people keep it quiet then so can we.”

“We won’t.” His jaw shifted, holding back anger that had been boiling since they told him. “I won’t lie to them.”

The quiet accusation aimed at her father, their father, hurt more than it should. Part of her was angry at him too, and she understood his own, yet she was still his daughter. And Jon wasn’t her brother.

With a frown she sat back in her chair. “You don’t have to. You could just not tell them. It wouldn’t be a lie if they never ask.”

“I’m tired of the lies, Sansa,” frustration laced through his voice. “I’m tired of the games. I’m tired of dealing with people who would rather let the Night King ride to Dorne than look beyond themselves!” Jon deflated, shaking his head. “It won’t matter.”

Seeing him so disheartened made her tighten her grip on her skirt. “What do you mean?”

“Arya told me what happened.” His eyes turned to her, and though they held only relenting acceptance, they felt like daggers to Sansa. “With Baelish and the lords, before you killed him. They’re already waiting to cast me aside. I’ll at least give them a better reason than me bending the knee.”

Her lips were a line she wouldn’t let bend, not with the shame clawing at her throat. Arya had been right. Of course she had. 

“Was it just because you’re feelings for her?”

Jon shook his head. “You think so little of me?”

“I think you a man,” she said with a small smile. 

“It’s the right thing, Sansa.” He sighed, clearly not intending this when he came to her. “If you saw them, you’d know. The North can’t stand alone. As much as they may want to, they can’t. We can’t. I won’t let them die because they’d too stubborn to face the truth. They can’t act like children.

“Whatever she is to me doesn’t matter. Whatever I am doesn’t matter. I’ll stand beside Cersei Lannister if it means making it through this. I don’t care if they hate me. I don’t care if you hate me. I won’t let you die for it.”

Sansa got to her feet. “I don’t hate you.”

It was clear he doubted that, but he didn’t say it. “It was before anything happened. They’ll say it’s because I’m fucking her, they’ll call her a foreign whore, they’ll bring up Robb and me being a bastard. They’ll say I did it because I knew I was a Targaryan all along, that I’m coveting the Iron Throne and using her and them to get it.”  
He took a step toward her, his face stony and resolute. 

“What they say-what they feel-doesn’t matter. None of it does if they die. You have to make sure the North remembers that.”


	2. The Pack Survives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lords gather and the truth comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Glover is clearly the shithead of the show. Refused Jon and Sansa before the Battle of the Bastards, and was played by Littlefinger. So he’s a good show for the stubborn, idiotic northern lord that plagues more than a few. I imagine it’ll be better in show and book, both for time and because they’ll be more loyal and willing to accept help then people think, but I took it as a challenge and used it to help tell the story.

With Jaime’s confirmation that Cersei was planning to betray them, which Tyrion had assumed, Jon knew it was right. They would be angry. Everyone would. It would be like the Dragon Pit all over again. They’d say he should have lied, things would be easier that way. Maybe that would be right, but he couldn’t do that anymore than he could run to Essos and spend his nights visiting brothels while the Night King lived.

The lords gathered, with Daenerys and her council joining those among Jon’s high table. Once they had settled, Jon rose. “The Night King and his army have passed the Wall.”  
Start with a punch, leave them gasping so the rest would be easier. 

Panicked murmurs filled the hall, and he let them rise and fall. “Cersei has seen what we face but she won’t send us help. She’s planning to sit on the Iron Throne and wait for the Golden Company to replace the army Queen Daenerys burned.”

Daenerys looked to him, her eyes questioning as he motioned to her.

“She’s seen them. She rode beyond the wall to save us. She lost one of her dragons to them. She’s put aside her war to the south to help us with the true war, between the living and the dead.” He spoke with the firm tone he’d taken from his time as Lord Commander. “And when we win, the North will help her claim the Iron Throne.”

He’d expected the explosion of yells, could tell they’d been building. Arya was glaring while most of Daenerys’ council looked uncomfortable, Jorah resting his hand on the hilt of his sword in case anyone tried something. 

As things started to quiet down, Lord Glover stepped forward. “We didn’t make you king so you could kneel to some foreign queen! We stood for the White Wolf, not the King Who Knelt come again!”

“What does what you say matter?” Arya yelled as she got out of her chair, hands digging into wood as she glared at Glover. “You, a coward who turned the Starks away when they needed you. Too afraid to do what was right when it mattered.”

“You call me craven?” Glover seethed.

“Have I lied?” She said coolly.

“Arya,” Jon said, waving a hand for her to sit. She kept her eyes on Glover as she sat back in her chair. 

Glover glared at Jon. “We chose you to rule us, but clearly that was a mistake.”

There were a few murmurs, both in agreement and against it. 

“We should have known better than to trust the North to a Snow.”

Daenerys, Tyrion, Sansa and Arya looked to Jon, knowing his words before they came from his mouth. “I’m not a Snow.”

“Being Eddard Stark’s son doesn’t make you a Stark. It doesn’t give you the right to damn us to the Mad King’s daughter.”

“I’m not Eddard Stark’s son.”

His words left the room silent. Arya wore a heartbroken frown, wishing it could have stayed a secret so he could stay her brother in their eyes. Tyrion winced, realizing what Jon was doing, knowing what was to come and wishing he’d told them so he could be prepared. Daenerys wore a small smile, reminded of his inability to lie in the Dragon Pit and glad he was willing to say it, to admit the truth. Sansa frowned at the trace of pain in his admission, hating the truth even as he spoke it. 

“What do you mean?” Glover demanded.

Jon thought how best to do this. What words to use, but he could never decide. So he just spoke.

“You’ve all heard the stories, but just as Eddard Stark claimed me his son, the story of his sister is a lie.” Some of the smarter lords gasped, already putting it together, while others were baffled. “His sister was never stolen or raped. Rhaegar wasn’t some lecherous madman like his father. Lyanna was a girl who ran away from home to marry the prince she loved, to give birth to a child Eddard Stark protected with a lie.”

People were yelling again, on their feet and pounding the tables. 

“Targaryen lies!” 

“Bastard lies!”

Sweet, fat Sam was on his feet. “It’s not a lie!” He yelled so loud his throat hurt, gulping a breath now that the room had turned to him. “I was at the Citadel. The high septon wrote in his personal journal that he’d annulled Rhaegar’s marriage and performed another for him and Lyanna Stark.”

“His name isn’t Jon Snow,” Bran said beside Arya. “His name is Aegon Targaryan. My father lied to protect him from Robert Baratheon, to keep his promise to Lyanna as she die.”

The lords looked to each other, murmuring until Lord Manderly stood. “If what you say is true, then that means he is the heir to the Iron Throne.” Manderly looked from the northern lords to Jon Snow, stood behind the high table. “Jon Snow is the King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“It doesn’t matter what I am,” Jon sighed. “The Iron Throne doesn’t matter, none of it matters. Who rules, what we want, all of it doesn’t matter if we don’t stand together. The dead are coming, and we need to put all of it aside so we can work together, so you and your families aren’t just more soldiers for the Night King’s army.  
“If you think naming me king was a mistake then choose another. Exile me if that makes it easier.”

“Jon,” Sansa whispered beside him.

“If you want the North to stand on it’s own then ask Queen Daenerys to turn her attention south, to focus on claiming the Iron Throne.”

Daenerys furrowed her brow, looking from the lords to him.

“Let her and her dragons kill the Night King after he’s killed us all and our families are all soldiers in his army.”

The lords on their feet sank to their seats. 

He looked around, eyes shifting from Daenerys to Sansa and Arya before pressing his knuckles to wood and looking to the lords. “My father,” he winced, correcting himself. “Eddard Stark, he told us that in winter we must protect ourselves, look after one another… When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”

His head sank, shaking before it raised again. A smile took Sansa’s lips before she looked to a smirking Arya, both looking to Jon with pride. 

“Winter has come and we can’t stand alone. If we do, then we will die.” He raised his hand and sank into his chair. “Whatever your choice I’ll be riding north.”

“We won’t leave,” Daenerys said rising from her chair, drawing the room’s attention. “Whatever you all think of me, I won’t let you die, not when we can help. I’ve already lost one dragon to the Night King. I will bring every man I have, I’ll burn every wight and White Walker until I have justice for my dragon and every life claimed by the night king and his army.”

Sansa’s gaze turned from Daenerys to the lords sharing uncertain looks. She gained a few looks as she rose to her feet. “This isn’t a fight we can win alone. If we turn them away then we’re damning ourselves.” She glanced to Daenerys who watched with a curious smile, quietly thanking her for the support. Turning back to the lords she sighed. “People are going to die, but it need not be all of us. We’ve all had to do things we didn’t want, lost loved ones and done things we regret, but we’re alive. We can stand by our pride and die, or do what’s right and live.”

“If what you say is true,” the room turned it’s attention to Lyanna Mormont as she rose, barely standing above the men seated around her, “then I don’t see what’s changed.”  
She scoffed at the confusion on some of the lords faces. 

“He may not be Ned Stark’s son, but he has Stark blood. Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark… but by all rights he should have been King of the Seven Kingdoms. That was stolen from him by Robert Baratheon, his name stolen from him by Eddard Stark’s lie. He was never the bastard half the north turned away because he wasn’t a Stark. He is a king. The king who rides north for us even if we will not have him.”

Tyrion sent a sharp look to Daenerys, who frowned as she looked to Jon. 

He was tapping the arm of his chair. “Lady Lyanna. Whoever my father, I don’t seek the Iron Throne.”

“We’ve all done things we didn’t want,” Lyanna said, turning Sansa’s words on him, “to do what’s right.”

“I’ve already pledged us to Queen Daenerys before Cersei.”

“She had no right to ask that of Aegon Targaryan, her brother’s son and King of the Seven Kingdoms. You may not be King in the North, but you are a King of the North, with Stark blood in his veins. A king who has been fighting the true war while others concern themselves with crowns, names and houses!”

She turned her attention to Jon. “You said once we find our true friends on the battlefield. I say we will find our king there as well!”


	3. Straw Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon pulls away from Dany and Tyrion's meeting with him makes things worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here comes the cracks in Jon and Dany, ones I imagine the writer will use in show, though things are made worse by Tyrion and the lords. Don’t know if Sansa will realize how dumb she’s been, especially if they ignore the supposed deleted seen of her being ready to put Arya on trial until she went to Bran.

In the end, nothing had changed. They would back Jon through the winter at least, and see where things lay when the Night King fell and the last wight crumbled. He hoped it would mean he could focus on the Night King, but he wasn’t surprised when Daenerys knocked on his door that night.

He let her in walked to the table holding his pitcher of win to poor her a glass. “It went better than I thought it would. Better than the Dragon Pit at least.”

“I still wish you’d learn to lie.”

“And I wished I was a Stark,” he said handing her the goblet when she stopped next to him.

“And now you’re a Targaryen.” 

He watched her drink, frowning. “I’m not.”

“So you say,” she set the goblet down. “I thought I was alone, but here you are. My nephew.”

The words were somber on her lips, heavy with what they’d done.

“And now proclaimed King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You know I don’t care about that,” he implored.

“I know,” she frowned. “But I know you’ll do whatever you can for them. When this is done they’ll want you on the throne same as they do now.”

He slid his hand back, away from hers. “Targaryens have renounced their rights in the past. I’ll do the same.”

“And the North will succeed again,” she sighed, letting her hand slide over his on the table. 

He slid his hand back, away from hers. “We can’t.”

Her brow arched. “Because?”

“Because it’s changed.” Frustration forced a snort as he walked to look at the hearth. “I’m your brother’s son.”

“Targaryens have laid with each other since before the Iron Throne,” she said walking to stand at his side. 

“And how many were happy?”

She tried, but for every Jaehaerys and Alysanne there was an Aemon and Naerys or Rhaella and Aerys. 

When he heard the door open and close he let out a sigh and gripped the back of a chair tight enough his fingers went numb. 

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

“I’m surprised.”

Arya’s voice made Sansa look up from her ledgers. “About?”

“You could have made them crown you.”

Sansa took a breath. “And then where would we be? They’d have us die if we did as they please.”

Arya smirked. “And when this is done?”

Sansa’s brow tightened. “Then we’ll do what’s right.”

“And that is?”

Frustrated with her accusations she yelled, “I don’t know!” Sansa sighed, sitting back in her chair. “I don’t know, Arya. If we make it through this then I’ll do what I can to make sure we’re okay.”

Arya nodded, slowly, thoughtfully, before asking, “And who is we.”

Sansa frowned. “Our family. You, me, Bran and Jon.” 

At that Arya walked over and took the seat across from her. “So how do we do that?” The confusion on Sansa’s face made Arya smile. “We need to be ready. Jon can handle the Night King and his army. We need to prepare for what comes after. What happens when the war is won and Daenerys doesn’t want to give up the throne? We can’t let lords stupid enough to listen to Baelish force Jon to get himself killed because they’re too stubborn to accept change. I’ll kill every northern lord before I let that happen… but you told me we can’t go cutting off everyone’s head, so let’s find another way.”

Sansa was shocked. She never thought she’d see the day her sister wanted to work with her, but of course it would be to help Jon. But she sighed, shaking her head. “It won’t matter. When this is done he’ll marry Daenerys and go to king’s landing and give her the throne. He’ll be king consort while she rules.”

“I doubt that,” Arya said quietly, looking the same as she ever did when she had a secret she wanted to tell.

Sansa’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What does that mean?”

Arya leaned back, failing at looking innocent. “I may have been in the hall when she went to visit Jon. I might have stayed just long enough to see her storm off a minute later, upset.”

“You think he broke it off?” asked Sansa. She knew he cared for Daenerys, he wouldn’t have laid with her if he didn’t, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit glad, which just made her feel guilty since he was surely torturing himself over this.

“It’s Jon,” Arya shrugged, “I’m sure he’s found some reason to blame himself for it.”

Sansa snickered. “He would blame himself for the Night King if he could.”

“Even if they make up, do you really think he’d be happy at King’s Landing?”

Sansa’s smile fell. “I can’t imagine anyone happy there.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Tyrion found Jon in the courtyard that morning, much as he head years earlier when he stumbled upon an angry boy beating a straw dummy. 

“What am I supposed to call you now?” Tyrion asked with a laugh. 

Stopping mid swing, Jon turned to him and shook his head. “Whatever is easiest.” A moment later he decided, “Jon.”

“And when you take the Iron Throne?”

He struck the straw man’s side. “I’m not.”

Tyrion smirked. “I jest.” Seeing his teasing hadn’t endeared Jon he opted for a direct approach. “You could marry her.” Jon stopped his swing to turn to Tyrion. “Marry her, unite your claim with hers, let her rule.”

He’d known it was an option. He knew someone would suggest it. His shoulders already sagged with everything they put on him. Every title, every duty, every responsibility. It never ended. He could feel himself buckling, breaking. 

“And what if I don’t want that?” Jon asked, walking over to throw the sword into the barrel along with the other blunted sword. “What if I never want to go south again? What if I want to live out the rest of my life in the north?”

“Then renounce your claim,” Tyrion said stepping forward, clearly enthused by his disinterest in the Iron Throne. 

“And if the northern lords decide they won’t accept her?”

“Then we’ll deal with them, make them bend the knee, break their pride.”

“And if they name Sansa queen?”

Tyrion frowned, shaking his head. “She’ll do what’s right. She’ll see reason. When this is through the North will need help.”

Jon’s jaw shifted. “And you’d council Daenerys hold off until we bend the knee? You’d tell her to let us starve and die so she can have her throne?”

“You’d have your sister die rather than kneel to Daenerys?”

Jon’s steely gaze held Tyrion as he declared, “I’d make a claim before I let her suffer.”

The threat shocked Tyrion, taking a moment to scoff and shake his head. “You think you’ll be able to if we survive this?”

“I may not be a Stark,” said Jon, “but the King of the North will make sure the Starks endure.”

Jon set off with determination that made Tyrion wince. No good could come from this.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Sansa was in her room breaking fast when there was a harsh knock at her door. She got to her feet with a sigh, hurrying over to open it. “Arya, can’t we finish la-” She cut herself short when she found Jon standing in the corridor. He looked angry, angrier than she’d seen him in a long time. “Jon?”

He strode past her. “Close the door.”

Though utterly confused, she did as he wished and turned to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to write to the Citadel.”

Sansa furrowed her brow, walking closer to him now he stood beside her table. “Why?”

“We need the journal Sam copied.”

Sansa gaped, blinking. It took her a moment to regain her sense. “You’re going claim?”

“I need to be able to.” He exhaled harshly. “Tyrion-he-” He took a moment to breath. “We need to be ready. I need to have proof.”

“Jon, what happened?” 

“If I don’t claim, if they don’t accept Daenerys, they’ll ask you to be queen. I know it’s what you want, but-”

“I don’t.” 

“Sansa,” he smirked. “It’s okay. I understand. You don’t have to-”

“I’m not lying.” She sighed, walking to her chair. “I’ll admit I did. There were times I… I thought it’d be better if they crowned me queen. But I was an idiot. I thought I’d grown up, I thought I was smarter than that. I thought I was smarter than…” 

Watching her sink into her chair, Jon held the back of the opposite chair, waiting.

“I thought I knew better, but I fell for his lies.” She shook her head in disgust, in shame. “I told you I didn’t trust him, and yet I believed everything Littlefinger said. I believed him when he said Arya wanted to be Lady of Winterfell. I believed him when he said she’d kill me for it. I told everyone never to trust him but I let him pull me into his game and nearly let him turn me against Arya. Against my family.”

Her eyes rose to meet Jon with a somber smile. “You never would have believed him. I always thought he would have played you, that he’d betray you like he did father, but I was wrong about that as well. You never trusted him. You never would have believed his lies. You never would have let him play you, not like he wanted.  
“If they ask, I’ll renounce, same as Arya and Bran.” Her smile grew as she met Jon’s eyes. “You’re meant to be king.”

“And you deserve to be queen,” he said with a laugh, sitting across from her. “So you got played by Littlefinger. That doesn’t mean you’re not fit to be queen. You keep things running as much as I do. More, I suppose, since I’ve been gone most my reign.”

Sansa chuckled. “The Absent King.”

Jon frowned. “I didn’t want to leave.”

“I know,” Sansa nodded. “We never get what we want.”

Jon sat forward. “I want that journal.”

“What happened with Tyrion?”

“We talked. He spoke of breaking their pride if the lords won’t accept her. Said that if they chose you they’d let the north starve when this is done rather than give us support.” Jon shook his head, sitting back. “I told him I’d make a claim before letting anything happen to you.”

Though Tyrion’s threats left her saddened, she couldn’t help but smile at his defense. “Oh.” She wanted to laugh at his poorly thought out threat born from gallant defense. “You’d really go through with it?”

“If it’s that or risk something happening to you.”

“It would be better to have more proof than Sam’s word,” she offered with a laugh.


	4. Mistakes of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany tries to mend things with Jon. Long lingering doubts rise, forcing Sansa to confront past choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Tyrion is an awful hand for war. Maybe he’d be okay once things had settled, dealing with just the politics of court, but he’s a crap military adviser and general. I also don’t think it’s impossible for him to suggest letting Jon die, this is the guy who says in the books he wants to rape and murder Cersei, he’d at least consider it. 
> 
> This is also where Sansa and Jon dealing with their problems, which stem from season 6.

“Please understand, your grace,” Tyrion pleaded as Daenerys dug her hands into the table in her room. 

“Understand that you just drove him to do what you wanted him not to?” She asked spinning to him, keeping herself from yelling. “That you forced his hand, that you threatened his family?”

“Let him marry you and be happy.”

“I’m not some some consolation prize for a crown,” Daenerys sneered. “I’ve already been sold for an army and saw how that failed. I won’t be sold for the Iron Throne.”

Tyrion sighed, hating himself as he said, “Then maybe we let fate claim him.”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. “Let him die?”

“He wouldn’t be the only one claimed in the war to come,” said Tyrion, shaking his head and standing as tall as he could. “I won’t let anyone stand in the way of you getting to sit on the Iron Throne, even someone I consider a friend.”

“Then I suppose I’m lucky you don’t call me friend.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

With the last of her army arriving, Daenerys met with her generals to prepare. Jon was busy with his lords and wildling leaders, but she couldn’t help but seek him out. He was sat on a step with his elbows on his knees, talking to Davos and Tormund who stood before him. The moment he spotted her his face hardened and he got to his feet, already defensive as he told the others something which made them leave.

“Your grace,” he said as dismissively when they first met. 

“Jon,” she frowned, already worse than she’d hoped. “I think we should talk.”

“About?”

His clipped voice made her shift. “I’d never harm your family.”

Dissapointed amusement flashed across his face. He’d expected this, and yet hoped for something else. “It’s easy to say, but when they elect Sansa and she won’t bend the knee? If I decide when this is done that I want the throne?”

“You don’t want that,” she said shaking her head.

“What I want doesn’t matter, not if I have to worry about their safety.”

“And what of us?” Daenerys asked somberly. 

Jon sighed. “At Castle Black, before he died Aemon told me love is the death of duty. He might be right… but I won’t let it be the death of family.”

“I’m family,” she said firmly, her eyes hardened. 

“You’re Daenerys,” he said meeting her gaze. “You’re not my sister. You’re not my brother. You’re not Sansa. Wherever I go, whatever my name, they are my family. They always will be. Whether it’s going north to face the Night King or riding south to claim a throne I don’t want, I’ll do anything for them. Even if I’m miserable, so long as they can live in peace I’ll bear it for them.”

“And should I just step aside, give up everything I’ve worked for?”

“Ask your advisers,” he said shaking his head and walking off. 

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Sansa found Jon standing over a table with a map of Westeros stretched across it. 

“You look miserable,” she said coming to a stop beside him. 

He glanced at her and shook his head. “It hasn’t even started and I’m already tired of fighting. I just want one day of peace. One day without worrying about lords north or south. Just one day where I don’t have to worry about the daggers at my back so I can focus on the ones at my throat.”

Sansa let out a laugh, looking over the map. “I feel a fool for ever coveting it. It’s hard enough dealing with Winterfell.”

“You’re good at it,” he assured.

“And yet you never listen to me,” she said, her amused tone failing to hide the bitterness beneath. 

Looking to her, he stood straight. “It’s not some slight against you, Sansa. I don’t ignore you. I take in what you say as much as anyone else. More, in fact, but I can’t just do as you want if I disagree with it. If I did then Alys Karstark would be homeless, and I couldn’t live with that.” 

“I know,” she admitted. 

He crossed his arms and snickered. “If I held her responsible for her father’s actions then Dany may as well have killed me for father’s part in Robert’s Rebellion.”

Sansa smiled hearing him say father. “And she may live to regret that if you end up taking her throne.”

He nodded begrudgingly. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but while I’m gone I’d like you to work on that.”

“You plan to go through with it?”

Jon took a breath, turning to look at the hearth and lean against the table. “No. But I could use it to talk her into letting the North remain as it is and assure her alliance. She has her dragons, but I’ll have my claim.”

His coldness surprised her. “I thought you loved her.”

“I might have loved Daenerys, but not a Targaryen queen who could harm my family. Not her advisers who are probably praying all the lords and I die so she can just take what she wants.”

Sansa reached over to touch his elbow. “I’d rather you be happy than king.”

“And I’d rather you live without worrying about who might send a dagger in the night.” He glanced back at her before his gaze sank to the floor. “If that means I have to use this and stay as king, I’ll be happy.”

“Are you capable of that?” She asked teasingly. 

Jon shook his head, his snicker turning to a sigh. “I don’t know anymore.”

His sincerity worried her, moving her hand to his chest. “Jon, you deserve to be happy. Whatever you decide, whatever you want, we’ll make it work.” She tilted her head, offering an assuring smile. “We can always sick Arya on the lords to make them listen.”

Jon smirked. “And how would a dozen dead lords help?”

“She’d keep a few alive if you asked.” She took her hand back and took a breath. “When was the last time you were happy? Truly happy for more than a moment?”

“Really?” His skeptic tone was met by Sansa’s raised brow, making him sigh and think. “With Dany, on the boat.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

Jon grinned. “I don’t mean like that. It wasn’t just because I bedded her. It was the only time I wasn’t fighting for my life or weighed down by everything.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Okay. And before that?”

That was harder. It took him a while to think. Returning to find Arya and Bran had been incredible, but was quickly followed by the revelation of his parents. Even before that he’d been worried about dealing with the northern lords. Before that had been King’s Landing and Dragonstone, where half the time he felt a prisoner. 

“That hard?” She asked with a laugh. “What about before you left?”

He shook his head. “Dealing with squabbles between lords and free folk? Trying to make due with what the Boltons left to prepare for a war in the middle of winter? Worrying about Cersei and the Night King?”

“Okay, but you must have felt happy when you were named king,” she suggested, “when we retook Winterfell.”

His eyes flicked to her as his face darkened and he looked away. “No. Not with everything surround it.”

His reaction surprised her. It wasn’t just him not wanting to talk about the battle, he’d done that before. “What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me.”

“Sansa.”

“Tell me,” she insisted. 

A relenting sigh escaped him as he turned sit, taking a moment to answer. “I was worried about Baelish. About you.”

Her brow furrowed, her hand pressing into the table as she turned to face him. “What about me?”

Jon’s lips set in a line before becoming a grimace as he leaned forward, his entwined fingers hanging between his knees where his elbow rested. “I was worried you’d betray me.”

Sansa had assumed as much, especially after he said he knew she wanted to be queen, but it still hurt to hear it so bluntly. “You really think I would do something so awful?”

“You-” He bit back the word ‘lied’. That would have been wrong. “You didn’t tell me about him. You let me face Ramsey with half an army! You let me and thousands more risk our lives without knowing we could have had help!”

“And you would have wasted them!” She yelled, fighting to not stomp her foot. “You fell for Ramsey’s game, just like I knew you would.”

“What would you have me do, Sansa?” He asked, rising to his feet, to stand inches from her. “Should I have let Rickon die without even trying? Should I have let him die wondering why I wasn’t coming for him? Should I have just taken a bow and put an arrow through his heart myself?! What else should I have done?!”

“I don’t know!” She wanted to pull on her hair and scream. “I don’t know.”

Jon took a breath, pushing it down. “Maybe he still would have died. Whatever you think of me, I’ll never regret trying to help Rickon.” He met her eyes, adding firmly, “Never.”

“I know,” she whispered. 

“But if I’d known about the Vale knights then we might not have lost so many men. How many died because you didn’t trust me, Sansa?”

“I never wanted that, I swear.”

Jon shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. You didn’t trust me. For all I knew he’d made you stay quiet about it, hoping I’d die so he could claim you and the North.”

“I’m so sorry, Jon,” she said fighting off tears. “I swear I never wanted that. I just… I wanted Winterfell back, and you wouldn’t listen-”

“You didn’t talk,” he shot back before she could finish. “For all you say I don’t listen, how much did you say? How many choices did you offer? You told me I shouldn’t fall for his trick, but didn’t tell me I had thousands more men waiting in the wings. You told me he would kill Rickon but never offered a way to help him. I can’t listen to what you don’t say. I can’t account for what I don’t know.”

Sansa looked away to avoid him seeing the tears in her eyes as she took a breath, easing the burn in her eyes. She shook her head turning back to him. “I trust you, Jon. With my life, with all of our lives, I swear it. I trust no one more than you. From the moment I saw you in Castle Black, you’re the person I trust most in this world. The only one I know will do what’s right.”

His face softened he thought back, a smile tugging at his lips. “I think that’s it.”

“What?”

“The last time I was happy.” He smirked. “I came back from the dead and was miserable until you came through the gate. Talking in front of the fire, just having you there, alive. Even knowing about the Night King, I was happier than I’d been in years.”

Her heart swelled as she thought back. She’d been terrified the entire trip north, and it had all melted away the moment she wrapped her arms around him and knew he was real. They’d argued, but she’d been so happy. Yet even then she hadn’t trusted him, she’d lied about how she knew of Riverrun. 

“I’m awful,” she declared, feeling so small. 

“You’re not,” he assured. 

“I lied to you so much.”

Jon frowned, regretting all he’d said. “You didn’t tell me. It’s not a lie if I never asked.” 

A smile flickered across her lips at him using her excuse before she shook her head. “I lied about the Blackfish. I didn’t find out from a raven sent to Ramsey. I found out because I’d met with Petyr and he mentioned it. That was when he told me of the knights waiting for my word. I didn’t want to rely on him, but when you were going to attack I thought I had to.”

Hearing it all, Jon reached up to stroke his forehead. “What’s done is done. All that matters is that we’re here.”

She reached out to take his hands in hers, making him meet her eyes. “I swear, Jon, I am on your side. I’ve known since before I ever set foot in Castle Black you were on mine, and I’m sorry I ever made you doubt me, but I am. I may not make it as obvious as Arya, but I swear I am. You made me feel safe for the first time in years, you fought to bring me back to Winterfell when you wanted to go someplace safe. I can never repay that.”

“It’s not something you have to.”

“I know, and you the only person I actually believe means it.”

He matched her smile before glancing at the map beside them. “So what do I do? I can’t try to sweet talk the southern lords and fight.”

“I don’t think you could sweet talk them at all,” she teased. “Let me worry about that. By the time you return, I’ll have a plan, I promise.”

“Sansa-”

“Please,” her hands tightened around his, “leave it to me.”


	5. Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's teasing becomes a suggestion. Sansa offers Jon a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the ‘married for convenience’ or ‘married for politics’ becoming love trope about as much as I love going back in time and ‘want of a nail’ type au stories. I couldn’t help use it here. 
> 
> I’m sure it seems like Sansa got it harsh the last few chapters, but I think it’s deserved. I also think while she’d by no means the master schemer some people make her, she’s not an idiot either, so hopefully this showed that.

It was two days before the armies were to set out and meet the Night King’s army when Sansa found Arya in the courtyard with Gendry. Spotting Sansa approach, Arya waved him away. He bowed his head to Sansa before doing a more exaggerated bow to Arya. “Mi’lady.”

That earned him a glare as he walked away. “He’s handsome.”

“Shut up,” Arya snapped at her. 

“Oh hush. It doesn’t make you less of a fighter to think a man is handsome or want to be his wife.”

“Hm.” Arya shifted her shoulder, turning to Sansa. “And what about you? The only man I see you talk to who isn’t a cretin is Jon. You planning on being his wife?”

Arya’s tone made it clear that was meant to be unappealing, teasing Sansa, but it wasn’t. Still, she was quick to shake her head. “It’s not like that. I’m trying to support him, Arya. He’s got a lot on his mind lately, the least I can do is help ease some of it.”

The slight flush of her cheeks, the slight shift of her eyes, the quirk of her lips. Sansa might be better than most, but she could never win the game of faces. Each one a lie, not completely, but slight enough that the signs were subtle. Subtle enough that she might not even know it, not consciously. 

“And who else is there? You think you’ll settle for a Glover? Maybe one of the Free Folk? Or some southern lordling? Unless you intended to be an old maid.”

“I’m not a maid,” Sansa said quickly.

Arya frowned, wishing again that Bolton was alive just so she could kill him in every painful way she could imagine. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Sansa sighed. “I don’t know what I intend to do, Arya.”

Arya looked at her sister, imagining a life where she would spend the rest of her days alone in Winterfell. A life with nothing of what she’d dreamt of as a child, none of the happiness she’d wanted, only the memories of them all being twisted into nightmares. 

“It wouldn’t be so bad,” she offered.

“What wouldn’t?”

“Marrying Jon.”

“Gendry will be jealous if he hears that,” Sansa teased. 

“Not me, stupid,” Arya rolled her eyes. “You.”

“Me? Marry Jon?” 

“Who else?” She asked, crossing her arms. “Name one man half as good as him, half as worthy. Half as deserving of happiness.”

Not wanting to think on it, she teased, “Gendry.”

“He wouldn’t accept it,” Arya said as an absolute, lacking any of the jealousy Sansa had hoped for, “but Jon would.”

“Arya,” Sansa pleaded.

“I’m being serious, Sansa. It would be different if you were his sister… but you’re not. And unlike me… you never were, not really.” Arya expected the frown Sansa wore. “You know as well as I do that he’d do it if you asked. He’d marry you tonight if you wanted.”

“And then what?”

“Welcome him home from war as his wife,” Arya shrugged. “Do wife things. I don’t know.” 

Sansa turned her head slightly, her brow twitching before knitting in thought. A moment later she smirked. “That could help. It would make any lords loyal to me loyal to him. It would give him a reason to stay north, he could say I’ll never go back so he’d rather stay with his wife. Give her reason to accept it.”

“What are you talking about?” Arya asked.

Sansa rubbed her fingers against her palm. “You really think he’d do it tonight if I asked?”

Arya arched her brow. “Are you going to?”

Sansa was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “We’ll need to keep it quiet.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Jon had asked for supper in his room so he could finish preparing for their departure in two days. He doing through his clothes when there as a knock at his door. “Leave it on the table,” he called out, tossing aside a jerkin with a tear in the side. 

Hearing the door close and latch he looked over his shoulder, getting to his feet with confusion painting his face. “Sansa? What is it?”

“Jon, I need to ask you something,” she said walking toward him quickly, keeping as much distance from the door as she could, “and I need you to hear me out.”

“Okay,” he nodded. 

She took a breath, steeling herself. “Would you be happy here?”

“What?”

“Would you be happy here, at Winterfell? If you come back from this and the rest of your days were spent in Winterfell, in the north, would you be happy?” 

Jon smirked. “Sansa I was ready to spend the rest of my life freezing at the Wall. Anything south of Mole Town is a blessing.”

“And you’d be willing to use your claim as a threat?” She asked quietly. “Start with that, and bargain down to the north? Maybe the Vale and Riverrun?”

“You think we could take that much?”

“If we backtrack towards it, yes. We’d have to ask for more, much more, let them pick away at it until we have what we want. Ask for the Westerlands and the Iron Islands as reparations for what’s been done to us by their Wardens. 

“Ask for a piece of the Crownlands, Crackclaw Point. Demand it all, say you’ll take the northern half of Westeros and she the south, let her keep the Crownlands, but push for the Iron Isles, let her pick away at the Westerlands, and we keep the Vale. When the Greyjoys remind her of their supposed deal, let them keep it so we can set up defenses along the Riverlands just in case. Let the Kingsroad remain for trade between both kingdoms.”

Jon had risen as she spoke, taking a moment to think it over. “I suppose that could work, but they’ll push for more. Tyrion’s already suggested I marry her so I can support her claim, he’ll do it again. He’ll still worry I’ll suddenly decide to ride south and take what’s mine.”

“Not if your wife would never go south.”

Jon’s brow furrowed. “My wife?”

Sansa stepped forward, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. “Your wife.”

He looked at their hands, then her face, tilted his head as he looked at their hands again. His brow rose, looking to her. “Sansa-”

“Just listen!” She stopped him. “Please, just think about it. Tyrion knows what I went through down there. He knows how much I hate it. He knows I would never go there again if I could.” With a sad smile she rubbed her thumb against the back of his hand. “And he knows what kind of man you are. That you’d marry me to help me stay north. That you’d never force me to go there. That you’d marry me to make sure I was never sold off again, never forced to take a husband I didn’t want.”

“Except for me,” he said ruefully. 

“That’s-that’s not necessarily true.” She smiled, solemn and true. “You’re the best man I know. The only one I trust. The only one whose every word I don’t second guess. The only one I could ever think of doing this for.”

“Sansa,” he sighed. “I can’t ask this of you.”

“You’re not,” she said with pride, “I’m asking you.”

His eyes stayed on hers. “You deserve better.”

“You do,” she frowned. “You deserve better than some stupid, broken girl you can’t even trust. You deserve someone you love.”

“Sansa,” he turned his hand to hold hers, squeezing it. “You’re more than a man like me could ever dream of. I spent my entire life thinking I would never have a wife, let alone one half as beautiful as you, half as kindhearted or smart or brave.”

Her lip trembled as she smiled. “Jon.”

“If this doesn’t work, if it’s all for nothing, would you still be okay with it?” He asked quietly. 

“We could always take your father’s example and annul it,” she said with a put on smile. Seeing him frown, she let it fall. “Of course I would, Jon. Whatever comes, I’ll be better off that your side than I ever will be alone.”

“You’d never be alone.”

“But I’d be at your side, forever.”

Jon smiled. “Maybe you’re braver than I thought if you think that bearable.”


	6. Bare Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa marry in a secret ceremony. She takes him to bed intending to help their plan, but they find solace now their scars are bared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I like the marriage for politics trope, I thought it’d be interesting to use that and have them not start cold toward each other. Instead of having sex like cold fish laying there, he’d tried to make it enjoyable for her. Baring their scars to each other opening them up a lot, helping them be freer and more playful with each other as much as Sansa making an effort to defy Ramsey’s ghost by enjoying Jon. 
> 
> Originally I was going to skip most of the sex, never intending the fic to be explicit, but when I got to the next break giving a brief overview of what happened, I thought of all the little moments that could be shown during it. I tried to let the sex show their emotions as much, though it ended up more like porn, so apologies. Hopefully it's not too bad.

Few knew what was happening. Arya brought Gendry, and Jon assured he could be trusted. Davos stood beside Bran, who watched with a smile. Sam and Gilly stood together close to Jon. Little Sam sat against her hip while her other hand held Sam’s, his eyes glistening with pride for his friend. 

Tormund, who’d returned days earlier, was brought partly for his closeness to Jon but also to represent the Free Folk. Jaime Lannister was asked to stand witness for the south. Podrick Payne joined both because he was Brienne’s squire who had been there with them just as much as her, but also because of his tie to Tyrion. If he hadn’t mentioned it to the dwarf by midday she’d ask him to, so Daenerys could be spared finding out with the rest. 

If not for Brienne beside her, Sansa might never had made it to the weirwood.

The septon, one of many that had come to bless those riding off to war, stood before the tree with Jon beside him. Instead of a cloaking, a silken strip of cloth was laid across their entwined hands, wrapping them together. A cloth Bran had told Arya was hidden away in their father’s solar. 

“Father, smith, warrior, mother, maiden, crone, stranger,” they said in unison.

“I am hers and she is mine,” he said.

“I am his and he is mine,” she said.

“From this day until the end of my days.”

Once the words were spoken, Jon reached for her cheek, stepping in to press his lips to hers, sealing their fate with a kiss. 

They had unwrapped their hands when Arya came up to hug Sansa, shocking just about everyone. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

Arya smiled as she looked from her to Jon. “For giving me back a brother.”

There was no bedding, and yet when they all separated and made for their rooms, Sansa held Jon’s hand, opening her door.

“Sansa,” he began, but was pulled into her room before she closed and latched the door. He stepped back, shaking his head. “We don’t need to do this. I’ll never force you to.”

“I know,” she said stepping close to brush her palm across his cheek. “I know you never will, but we have to try.”

“No we don’t,” he assured. “I’m not going to annul it just because-”

“It’s not for that,” she said. “It’s for a babe.”

Jon blinked. “What?”

“If you come back and I’m pregnant, you’ll have more reasons to stay here with me. Less reason for them to think you’ll ever ride south to get something you don’t want when you have a family here.”

“You’ve already done so much for me, Sansa.”

“I’ll bear this misery for your happiness.”

“Misery?” He said with a laugh. “Gods, I’m not that bad.”

Sansa frowned. “I’ve been through this before.”

The amusement vanished from his face, replaced by a cold rage. “With a monster.”

She winced. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not like him.”

Jon quickly shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I’m sorry. I was angry at him, not you.”

She reached for his hand, interlacing their fingers. “You’re nothing like him. Everything he wasn’t.”

“Are you sure about this?”

Sansa nodded. “I am.”

“Okay.” He took a breath. “If… If it’s too much, just tell me and we’ll stop, but I promise I’ll do everything I can think of to make this as easy and pleasurable as possible.”  
Thinking back on her talked with Margaery, she smirked. “We’re very complicated, you know. Pleasing us takes practice.”

“I’ve had some,” he said with a laugh. “Trust me, Sansa. I know enough to make it bearable.”

Sansa smiled. “Of course I trust you.”

He hesitated before taking a step forward, reaching for her cheek and bringing his lips to hers. 

For a moment she froze, sinking into the pit of herself, going numb as she had with Ramsey. But then she saw him pull away, saw the sadness in his eyes. The rejection mirroring in them telling her he knew what she was doing, that he would stop there rather than make her suffer. So she decided instead to do as he did, vowing to make this as pleasurable as she could for him.

He’d started to speak when she reached for his cheek and pressed her lips to his. His eyes widened in surprise, meeting hers before both closed, their lips parting just enough to let their tongues brush against one another. 

His right hand lingered at her side, resting on her ribs as they kissed again and again. Each one better than the last, Sansa finding she didn’t mind the feel of his beard brushing her skin or taste of his lips and tongue. Her stomach was twisting and burning, a ball of heat growing until the lower half of her body felt twice as hot as the top. They evened out when she cautiously placed her hand over his, guiding it up to her breast.

That seemed to be enough of a sign for him to go further. While one hand cupped her breast and he broke their kiss to place another on her jaw, his left hand reached behind her, seeking the straps of her gown. Only when he couldn’t find them he peeked over her shoulder.

“Where the hells are they?” He whispered, earning a giggle from her.

“Let me,” she said stepping away, undoing the carefully hidden ties. 

She looked to him as he carefully removed his own clothes, setting them on a chair alongside his boots, leaving him in his breeches and a tunic. Already it was different than it had ever been with Ramsey. He was the one who undressed her, ripping nearly every dress he gave her, never waiting patiently. 

When the gown went slack, his eyes shifted away for a moment, as if he might not look at her throughout. Then a split second later they returned to her, remembering his promise to make this pleasurable, which would require focus. She wasn’t sure which was worse, having him see her scars or ignore her throughout. 

In the end she didn’t mind him seeing. When she first stripped down to her shift, she saw his gaze barely drift toward her shoulder, spotting the first hint of a scar before rapidly taking in the rest of her. There was a flash of anger, not at her, but at the ones who’d done this to her, but it faded into a solemn smile as he met her eyes. 

As if hoping to make it fair, he removed his shirt, Sansa fighting a gasp at the sharp scars across his torso. Seeing him avoiding her eyes as if afraid to see her reaction, took a breath and removed the rest, leaving nothing to keep her from his sight. That was enough to make him look again. 

She saw his hand twitch before he stepped forward cautiously, bringing his hand to her face, guiding her into a kiss. It was sweet, cautious and careful. His fingers slid into her hair, brushing her scalp while his right hand brushed across her stomach. It rose, wrapping around her side to hold her back as he stepped into her, pressing himself against her. 

She warily raised her hands to his sides. That seemed to make him snap to attention and pull his lips from hers. “Back,” he said, pressing a kiss to her jaw and shifting forward just enough that she felt the need to backup. When she did he repeated it, tapping her back while he pressed a kiss to her neck. 

It wasn’t until she felt her bed against he legs that she realized what he was doing. Again she’d somehow thought they’d spend the night kissing. Sensing her tense, Jon pulled his lips from hers. “Are you okay?”

Sansa nodded. “I am.”

He switched hands, letting his right brush her hair back while his left fell to her side. “You trust me right?” When she nodded, he smiled. “What I want to do will be easier if you lay down or sit.”

Sansa sat unceremoniously, earning a laugh from him.

“That works, though maybe more near the pillows in case you want to lean back but not lay down?” He suggested, remembering Ygriite would lean back and enjoy watching him. Sansa wasn’t her, obviously, but maybe she’d find similar enjoyment in seeing it rather than the embarrassment or shame if feared would plague her throughout.   
She took his suggestion, sliding up the bed until she was close enough to lean back comfortably if she desired. He looked down between his feet and for a moment she thought him embarrassed, but that vanished when he knelt down pressed a kiss to her collar while covering her left breast with his hand. 

Though she let out a small whimper, she watched him press a kiss against her shoulder before switching her gaze to his fingers brushing against her nipple. Even when they pinched and tugged gently, it was nothing like the painful pulls Ramsey had given her, threatening to rip them off. It was as if he loved them, something she didn’t doubt as he pressed his lips to her breast in a swift kiss before taking the right in his mouth. 

Jon looked up at her, checking if she was okay, silently asking if this was too much like something Ramsey had done. She smiled. “He wasn’t a biter,” she said quietly.   
Jon pulled his lips away and stopping pinching her, intent on listening, his right hand shifting toward her side. 

“He’d pull so hard it hurt, and stretch and twist and cut, but he wouldn’t bite,” she remembered with a bitter laugh. “For all he talked about his dogs he thought himself better than them. Probably thought biting was too much like them.”

With a nod Jon brought his mouth back to her breast, and she felt a fool for her surprise at the feel of his soft bite around her nipple. It stung, not enough to break skin or hurt, but enough to let her know it happened. 

Seeing her shock he pulled his lips away with a smirk. “Shame I don’t mind being a wolf.”

Sansa smiled, reaching down to brush her hand through his hair. “I’m glad.”

However his lip landed beneath her breast, his hands sliding to her thighs. Her brow rose as the next kiss landed on her stomach, which twisted when he pressed his hands against the inside of her thighs, showing he wanted them open rather than forcing them. Sucking down a breath she parted her legs, looking to the hearth as he moved closed to her. 

She tried to ignore the feeling of his fingers sliding up her thigh, reaching the apex and making her sit up. When she finally dared to look down was when he’d pressed his lips to meet those between her legs, running his tongue against them and catching her breath in her throat. His eyes flicked up to her, but continued when he saw her more shocked than horrified. 

He kissed and licked her, running a finger along her and pulling her lips apart to press his tongue inside. They were followed by his fingers. First one, but it was soon joined by a second, sliding back enough to open her for his tongue before eventually pushing into her. She shivered when his fingers beckoned her, brushing the top of her again and again, pressing into it and making her squirm and whimper as he lapped at her and brushed his tongue across the pearl atop it all.

He hadn’t lied. It was more than bearable. It was more than pleasurable. She fell back, moaning and clutching the bed beneath as as she fought her desire to close her legs and curl into a ball just before the sun in her stomach burst and her back arched, pressing her into his lips and practically screaming. She came apart and sank back to the bed with a sigh as her body went limp. 

Carefully extracting his fingers, she glanced down just in time to see him take them between his lips, sucking her off them before placing a kiss between her legs. After another kiss on her thigh made that leg tremble, he looked up to her with just about the most arrogant grin she’d ever seen him wear. 

“Did you enjoy that?”

Though a sincere question, she couldn’t help but prop herself on her elbow and offer a shrug. “It was bearable.”

For a moment he looked so crestfallen she regretted the jest, but it quickly gave way to playful indignation. “Then I guess you wouldn’t care if I never did it again.”

If she were Arya she might have huffed and stuck to it, instead she sat up, reached for his cheeks and pressed her lips to his. It was odd tasting herself on his glossy lips. He’d savored her and sucked her taste from her fingers much as she’d seen men due after eating strips of bacon, yet it tasted nothing of the sort. Thankfully it wasn’t awful, but she found a joy in knowing he seemed to enjoy it as much as anything else.

Taking her lips from his she smiled. “If I didn’t want a child I’d ask you to spend the night doing that again and again until I fell asleep.”

Jon’s grin brightened his eyes. “Maybe when I return.”

With a nod she took a breath and asked, “Do you want me to do the same?”

Realizing what she was asking, Jon chuckled nervously. “I’d like it, of course, but… I can only give so much in one night. If you’re certain about trying for a babe, then it’s probably best we hold off on that for now.”

“For now,” she repeated with a smirk.

“Is there anything you want?” he asked. “A way you’d rather avoid.”

She frowned, thinking. “I don’t know?”

“If it’s too much to look at me,” he suggested, “it could be done from behind.”

“No!” She gasped, looking up to him.

Jon quickly held her hand. “It’s okay. We won’t.”

She saw him sympathy and frowned. “I’m sorry. Maybe… just not yet.”

“That’s okay. We’ll do whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” she said with regret and frustration.

“We’ll take is slow. Lay back, get comfortable, relax.” He stood and walked to the table in the corner of her room. “You want some wine?”

Sliding back against the pillow, Sansa watched him, smiling weakly as he poured a goblet. “Don’t men try to get us drunk before all of this?” 

“I’m not most men,” he said setting the pitcher down and walking back to her, talking a sip for himself. “Everything I do is a mess. I’m an heir raised a bastard, a bastard made king, a night’s watchmen who took a wildling wife, a man who died and came back to risk my life again and again.” He stopped beside the bed and shrugged. “Of course I’d get a girl drunk after I’d made her peak.”

He handed her the goblet, letting her take a long drink before handing it back. Once he set it aside he returned to the bed, removing the last of his clothes. She’d tried not to look, but after her first peek took a second and a third before sliding back to make room for him, openly looking at him. She’d barely seen Ramsey’s, always looking to the walls around them or off to the side, drifting away into nothingness. 

Jon laid beside her, brushing his hand across her hip as he met her eyes. “You still okay?”

Nodding, she pressed her hand to his chest, rubbing it gently. “I am.”

“No regrets yet?”

“None,” she assured, sliding closer to press her lips to his. 

The moment she felt his cock against her thigh she felt it twitch, making her glance down. His left hand rubbed along her side as his right slipped under the pillow. She barely noticed she was sliding back until the back of her head sank into the pillow and he shifted keep kissing her. 

When he slid between her legs she’d tense, but he hadn’t pulled away. Instead he made his kiss gentle, pulling away to kiss her cheek and jaw while his right hand sought her left, interlacing their fingers and squeezing her hand. Her tension faded without a word, and she slid her right hand to his back, pulling him closer. 

The top of his cock brushing her lips made her shiver, raising her chin as if to get away. That made him stop, squeezing her hand as he raised himself to look at her. “Sansa?”  
Meeting his gaze she took a breath and nodded. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I promise.”

His left hand rose to brush through her hair, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “If you want to stop just tell me. If you like something, tell me. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Even with her body aflush she felt the heat in her cheeks grow. “Okay.”

Jon glanced down as his left hand sank between them and brushed up her thigh, making her shift slightly as it ran between her lips before leaving her. She’d looked down as well, watching him take himself in hand and draw closer to her when she felt his gaze shift. Looking up she met his eyes, and saw in them everything she could have wanted. 

They held her, made her do all she could to keep her eyes open, shifting and holding in a soft moan as she felt him slid between her folds with none of the pain she’d expected. Then again she was absolutely soaked compared to all the other times, making it much easier for him to enter. He probably could have buried himself in a single thrust, but he was gentle.

She kept her eyes on his, pressing her hand into the small of his back once the head was in, silently telling him to continue. He must have gotten halfway before he stopped, retreating slightly. Just as she thought the head would pass her lips again he pushed forward, sliding in deeper than before, making her breath catch as she blinked and bit her lips. Saw saw Jon smile when he pulled back again, his eyes alight with not just carnal pleasure, but delight and amusement at what he saw in her. He found his joy in her pleasure rather than her pain. 

His hand rose, brushing her hair before pressing into the mattress beside her, his right hand still holding her left. 

At first she’d thought it another half thrust, but his hips rolled and pushed until he filled her, making her gasp and close her eyes. Her fingers clutched at his back, a moan shaking her throat as she felt him with draw slightly before pushing in again. Gods she’d expected it would be better, but not like this. Why was this so much more? How could it be possible?

She opened his eyes and saw his had closed, taking a breath as he took in the sensation of her around him. When he opened his eyes she greeted him with a smile he returned. Though he was keeping himself propped up she arched her back, bringing her lips up to his, her hand sliding up his spine to bring him closer. 

He let her tongue brush against hers, a soft laugh in his throat when she nibbled at his lip and tugged at it lightly. When she released it he wore a wolfish grin. “I’ll need that, Lady Wolf, else I couldn’t give you a proper Lord’s Kiss.”

“Lord’s Kiss?” She asked with a huff as her hips shifted to meet one of his thrust. 

“Before,” he said with a grunt, flinching slightly, though not from pain. “It’s called a Lord’s Kiss.”

Sansa chuckled. “So that’s how a lord is supposed to kiss his lady?”

“Maybe it’s only proper,” he said with a laugh, leaning down to kiss her neck.

“I suppose it is.”

“Then should I kiss you properly tomorrow when we break fast with the lords?”

Her hand smacked his back. “Don’t you dare try.”

“Never,” he assured with a light kiss to her lips. She captured his lip between her teeth, meeting his eyes defiantly before pushing her face up for a deeper kiss. 

That had broken something. Suddenly her body burned, making her dig her hand into his back, rolling her hips to match his thrust as best she could. Her pace spurred him to move faster, his thrust becoming harder as he tried to keep pace. That was what made her break their kiss with a moan. The moment his lips were free they moved to her neck, his left hand reaching for her thigh, raising it and making it feel as if he’d somehow gone even deeper with his next thrust.

Her head leaned back, her brow knit as she felt her body tense and flush as his thrust continued. They seemed faster, harder, deeper, pushing into her, filling her, leaving nothing between them. His tongue brushed her skin, his teeth pressing into her collar before he placed a kiss to sooth whatever pain he’d caused. She moaned in his ear while he grunted into her shoulder. 

“Sansa,” he gasped, slamming his cock into her hard enough to make her moan, digging her nails into his back and squeezing his hand even tighter. 

“Jon,” she moaned, urging him on, “Jon!”

He raised his head to meet her gaze, pressing his lips to hers. When they looked to each other, fighting to keep them open as she cried out and he grunted, slamming into her hard and holding it for a moment while she grasped at him, milking what she could when he pulled back slightly before pushing further again. 

After a final thrust he pressed his left hand into the mattress to keep above her, sucking in a breath, his hair hanging around his face. She was taking quick breaths beneath him when she realized she’d closed her eyes, opening them to find him holding his breath a moment to try and catch it. When he opened his eyes and met hers, a smile took his lips, and suddenly Sansa’s eyes flooded.

She sobbed, shocking him and making him sit up, slipping from her to sit on his knees. “Sansa!”

“It’s okay,” she said waving him off. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t hurt you?” He asked quietly.

She sniffed, wiping her cheeks as she slid up her pillow and shook her head. “No. You didn’t. That was… It was the opposite of everything I knew.”

He placed a hand on her shin, her legs closed and bent slightly as he rubbed her leg. “I’m sorry you had to suffer that, Sansa. But I swear I’ll never hurt you. Not on purpose, and hopefully not by accident.”

“I know.”

He reached over to brush a tear from her cheek. “You’re gorgeous, Sansa.”

“Don’t,” she groaned, wrapping her arms around herself. “After all they’ve done to me, I’m hideous.”

“How can you ever think these make you hideous?” He asked brushing his finger against thin line on the outside of her thigh. His eyes took in every scar he could see before finding her eyes. “Nothing could steal from your beauty. They only prove how brave you are.”

If Jon was anyone else she might not have believed him. But Jon wasn’t Joffrey or Ramsey. He wasn’t Petyr or Theon or Robb or Father or any other man. Jon was Jon. 

Her legs shifted as she sat up, reaching for his neck, pulling him close enough for her to catch his lips in hers. After a moment the soft, passionate kiss broke for a split second before their lips met again with hunger. She barely noticed herself pressing against him until she pressed her hand to his chest and felt her breast pressing into it. His hand gripped her face, tugging at her lips before he kissed under her chin, making her lean her head back, a moan making her her throat tremble against his lips. 

The lower his lips moved, the more her head leaned back, her eyes closed while her hands slipped into his hair. She felt his teeth tug gently at her nipple before licking them, his tongue sliding up the center of her chest before he pressed a kiss to the center of her collar. He tried to kiss her neck, but she couldn’t bear it, turning her hand and pulling his hair to raise his so she could could kiss him. 

It had been with that kiss she slid her leg over his, straddling him and pulling herself against him. The kiss broke with a gasp when she felt the head of his cock pressing at her lips again. Taking a breath, she met his eyes and reached down, taking him in hand for the first time. As much as she wanted to guide it into herself, she took the moment to rub the length, exploring how it felt with a few slow, careful strokes. 

A soft grunt escaped him, and she felt a swell of power and control. The same kind that had birthed that arrogant smirk he wore earlier. The same she was sure she’d feel when she swallowed as much as she could and made his toes curl until his seed coated her throat. The same he’d let her feel every time they shared a bed if she wanted.

Raising herself, she gave him a final stroke before holding him in place while she pierced herself with him. One she’d passed the head however, she sank down to the base, her cunt clutching as him as she rose. 

“Sansa,” he said in a slight growl.

She grinned as she sank down again. Her hand slipped around his neck while the other gripped his shoulder. Left hand slipped around her while his right slid up her stomach, fingers brushing her skin before reaching her breast. She’d started to rise and fall slowly when his hand left her breast to slide into her hair and pull her to his lips. 

All the restraint he was showing her was gone from his kiss. He’d taken her lips, pulled away when he wanted to taste her neck, pressing his teeth against her collar and licking any marks he left before returning to reclaim her lips. But he let her control the rest, letting her control their pace. At least at first.

Soon she noticed he was pressing into the mattress slightly and rising to meet her much as she’d done to him earlier. They’d started with him sitting but soon she was sinking toward the mattress with him, keeping herself pressed against him. It wasn’t graceful, their paces mismatched every so often, and yet her moans grew louder, his grunted more fervent, unable to kiss her as he sucked in breaths. 

“Again,” she gasped, kissing his temple. “I’m coming apart all over again!”

“Do it, Sansa,” he urged, his hand sliding down her back. For a moment she feared he’d press his fingers into her rear, but instead her rubbed at the underside of her lips before squeezing her arse. “Crumble and come apart.”

“Jon,” she moaned, a hand coming up to grip his beard as she kissed him. “What of you?”

He laughed. “I’m barely holding on.”

She met his eyes with a grin. “Good.”

At that she bit her lip and pressed her forehead against his, thrusting her self down on him, taking him as deep as she could and clinging to him as tight as she could. Suddenly she felt both of his hands grabbing the cheeks of her arse, almost pulling her off before he slammed into her hard enough that she screamed, raising her head from his and quivering. He gave her four more thrust, each making her moan and renewing the tremble in her legs before he finally sank into the mattress. 

Unable to bear it any longer, she collapsed onto him, turning her head so she wasn’t breathing into his ear. After a moment he turned his head, brushing a hand through her hair in a way she knew meant he wanted to see her. When she looked to him she saw concern in his eyes. 

“No tears?”

Maybe she was too tired for them, but she didn’t feel them. “No. That was amazing.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said pressing a kiss to her shoulder. 

“Of course I did,” she said, and with a smirk tightened herself around him.

That earned her a light tap on her arse cheek. “Hey.”

She felt such shame for the need inside her, yet found it so easy to ignore. Instead she pressed her lips to his with a bawdy smile. “I need as much as I can take.”

More than pleased with her obvious enjoyment, Jon pressed his forehead to her. “I’ll give you all I have, Sansa. I promise.”

Their next time had been slower, quieter. They spent much of it kissing lightly, looking into the other’s eyes. She’d peaked before him, but he followed shortly after. 

He’d spilled once more with her atop him before she slipped off and rested her head on his shoulder. Jon had subtly guided her toward the side furthest from the door, closer to the hearth. 

His hand was sliding up and down her arm consolingly, making it hard to break the haze she felt over her. She’d blame that for her not speaking, letting him whisper, “Thank you, Sansa.”

Looking up at him, she found him smiling. She could have asked, but she knew. “Thank you.”

After all they’d done, even as they lay naked with his shrinking cock coated in a mix of his seed and her wetness, her cunt pulsing with a dull ache and soaking in his seed, he still seemed hesitant to kiss her. His hand slipped to her cheek, making her raise her head, letting him lean down and press his lips to hers. 

Her own hand rose to his cheek, fingers stroking through his beard before their lips parted and a content sigh left her lips while sinking back to her shoulder. She turned, laying more on her stomach than her side, staring up at him as he laid his head on her pillow. His gaze shifted down to her, a small smirk on his lips as he tightened his grip on her and sighed. 

“I’ll have to ask Davos about his fermented crab.”

Sansa blinked. “Hm?”

“Never mind,” he said rubbing her shoulder. After a moment he looked to her. “Should I leave?” She seemed to freeze, torn between answers. As though taking pity on her, he suggested, “It might be best if I stay. Would make it easier to try again in the morning.”

Looking relieved, she smiled. “I suppose it’s for the best. More chances for your seed to take.”

“Mm,” he said pulling the discarded furs over them.


	7. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after their wedding, Sansa finds herself happier then she'd imagined. Dany confronts Jon about the growing rumor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit more sex, so pardon if you dislike it, but this the last. 
> 
> This was one of the harder chapters to write, since I actually like Jon and Dany about as well as Jon and Sansa. I’d prefer Jon/Dany/Sansa, and this nearly ended up that, but I wanted to make a point so kept it to Jonsa. Instead I went for them both being hurt by circumstance, but behaving like vaguely rational human beings with their own reasons.

Dawn came and she awoke wrapped in his arms, her back to him. Even with all they’d done to one another, after having him inside her and crying out his name in pleasure, she still tensed the moment she realized their position. 

Somehow that seemed to be what woke him, his even breathing halting for a moment. She was frozen, shivering under the furs, yet when he moved to take his arm from her, she put her hand on his forearm to keep it around her. 

He groaned lightly, questioningly. She meant to snuggle against him, tell him she wanted to stay close to him, but then she felt it. His cock, hard as it had been the night before, pressed against her rear. She realized then how it must have seemed, as she felt his left hand press to her stomach while her right cupped her breast. 

She kept quiet until his hand slipped between her legs and he slipped his fingers into her, a moan pulling her lip from her teeth. “Jon,” she whispered, pressing herself against him. 

When he leaned forward to press a kiss to her shoulder, she flinched, and he stopped moving his fingers. “Should I stop? Do you want to change?”

Her left hand clutched his right forearm, fingers digging into him as she bit her lip and shook her head. “No.” She wanted to do this. Needed to kill her fear of it. He deserved it, deserved to not have a wife haunted by another man every time he took her to bed. She would overcome this. 

He hesitated, clearly wanting her to be sure. Rather than let him ask, her right hand found his left between her legs, pushing his fingers deeper into her. She thought he meant to torture her by leaving them there, but in time they curved and he rubbed the spot he had the night before, making her push against him. 

Her eyes snap open when he presses a kiss to her back, likely a sea of scares, flooding her with doubt. As if to challenge that, she reached down, pulling his hand until his fingers left her and reaching behind her for his cock. She tried to angle herself, but had to release him and reach between her legs instead, pressing him to her wet lips once again. 

“Are you sure?” he whispered, lips brushing against her shoulder. 

Looking over it she caught his eyes for the first time that morning and nodded. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and pressed into her. He wanted to be careful, knowing from her reluctance that he should go slow. And yet it wasn’t long before she was bucking against him, her head turned and her hand on his cheek, bringing his face to hers to kiss him. His right hand had taken to rolling her nipple between his fingers while his left lay between her legs, rubbing the pearl of her cunt, making her push against him harder. 

Maybe it was just not being bent over the bed, maybe it was trust built from the night before, but it hadn’t taken much for Ramsey’s ghost to fade that morning. Every time it seemed to near, Jon would bite her shoulder, press his teeth to her neck and lick away the pain. Just as she thought of Ramsey he did what he never would. His bites were anchors.

It didn’t take much more for her to moan his name, her hand reaching back to slide into his curls before throwing her head back and crying out in ecstasy. 

He took that as a signal and his thrust gained impact, driving the seed he released further, spilling deep in her again and again. She turned over and rode him after that, making him spill again before she finally rolled to his side. 

Taking a few minutes to lay in silence, they broke apart and rose for the day, using a basin and rag to wash themselves of the sweat and everything else. Jon was the first to dress, but stayed to help Sansa with her gown. 

“Should I help with your hair?” he asked as she turned to him. 

“Another day, perhaps,” she said pressing a hand to his chest. “I can handle it for now. You best be back to the room, change if you can and go break fast.” She put a hand to shoulder, guiding him toward the door. “Hurry off before the maids catch you.”

At the door he turned to her with a teasing smirk. “I doubt half of Winterfell doesn’t know. Probably Winter Town as well.”

“Shush,” she said swatting his forearm lightly. 

Part of her found it amusing how he still seemed hesitant to place a hand on her hip and lean forward to kiss her cheek after he’d unlatched the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Mm,” she nodded, holding the door open and watching him walk through the corridor, smiling to herself, one hand on the door and the other across her stomach, a fulfilling ache echoing into it from between her legs. 

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

She took some time to brush and braid part of her hair, a pair of braids meeting at the back, not unlike a crown. Her heart melted a little when she went to break fast in the great hall and saw color in Jon’s cheeks before he quickly finished his meal and excused himself. She only smiled as he made his way to the training yard, and yet she felt more than a few eyes on her. It was hard to say whether she was imagining them or not.

Half her meal was gone when Arya practically tossed her plate beside her and slipped into the seat, looking Sansa over curiously. “Are you okay?”

Sansa looked at her sister, clearly checking her, and felt a twist of anger that she would ever doubt Jon. Then she realized that was just about impossible, and she likely was concerned that it had sent Sansa into a panic or something.

“He beat me,” she said mournfully, hiding her smile. “Made me cry and yell.”

Arya’s eyes darkened, guilt painting the anger. “What?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I’m joking,” she said shaking her head, smirking as she added Arya’s favorite, “Stupid.”

“Oh.” Arya let out a relieved sigh, seeming to deflate.

“He was…” She smiled, deciding Arya likely didn’t want to hear details. “It was perfect, Arya. He was everything we thought he’d be and better.”

Arya nodded. “So you went through with it? It wasn’t too much?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, he was gentle. He made sure I was alright. Kept me from… drifting.”

“I’m glad,” Arya nodded, turning to her plate. Glancing at Sansa she smiled. “You seem happy.”

“I am,” she declared. “I am.”

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Jon had finished in the yards and started back toward his room where he found Daenerys stood beside his door. The smile that had claimed his lips most of the morning faded as he steeled himself and approached. 

Hearing him she stood straight, taking on a regal stance. “Jon.”

“Daenerys,” he said softly. No need to be harsh, this would be hard enough on them.

“Is it true?” She asked firmly.

He might have asked what she meant, but he knew better. Her glancing towards Sansa’s room also made it clear. “It is.”

Fury flashed across her face, quickly falling to anguish and pain. “How could you?”

“I did what I had to to keep her safe. To keep all of them safe.”

“Jon, I-” She stopped herself, meeting his gaze before shaking his head. “Couldn’t we have talked?”

Jon frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t know. With everything it just… it felt like the best option I had. It was this or risk something worse. Whatever they may think, if any of your lords think to try anything, they’ll be harming the King’s kin twice over. They’ll be hunted to the end of their days and damned long after we’ve all died.”

Daenerys’ jaw shifted before she sighed and stepped to him, reaching up to brush her hand against his jaw. “I wish things could have been different.”

Jon nodded. “So do I. I’m sorry for any pain this causes you, I truly am. You’re an amazing person Daenerys. You deserve happiness.”

She smiled, knowing at least he spoke honestly. “I know.” Her hand sank to her side and her throat bobbed, giving him a quick nod before she walked past him, disappearing down the hall. 

He felt awful as he changed, wiping himself off and dipping his hair before brushing it and tying it back. His eyes were boring into his, every unspoken insult as slash at his throat, a hole in his lungs. 

And yet that faded when he opened his door to find Sansa leaning against the wall opposite his door. 

“Sansa,” he whispered.

“Are you okay?” She asked, stepping forward and taking his hand. 

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

She smiled, knowing that was a lie. “I met Daenerys.”

“How was it?” He asked with a frown.

“It went as well as it could,” she said with a nod. “She said she hopes I’m happy, that you deserved better than a marriage of convenience. Said she’ll be ready to claim you should I bore you.”

After a quick scan of the corridor he smiled when she brought her hand up to rub his chin, much as Daenerys had earlier. Her fingers scratched his skin, and much like ghost he fought to keep his eyes open while leaning into her palm. “I doubt that will ever happen.”


	8. My Weirwood Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their marriage revealed, Jon and Sansa spend their last night together before he sets off to war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure everything seems to be going so fast, but to get the kind of pacing and development I'd like for everyone and give everyone a moment, it'd be at least 100,000 words and I literally wrote this all in a day.

Arya had been giving him odd looks throughout supper, and Daenerys hadn’t looked at him at all, her face a regal mask. Though her mood was clear in how she switched seats with Tyrion to keep from being next to Jon. 

They’d planned for the murmurs, the glances toward the high table, as if waiting for him to throw Sansa on the table and take her there. 

They’d also planned for Davos to rise once they were mostly through her meal, another request by Jon to help Daenerys. This way she could leave without skipping the meal.

“My lords and ladies,” Davos called out, the room quieting. “A toast! For as much as I knows he wished to keep it among a select few, it seems we’ve failed, your grace.” He gave a laugh to Jon before explaining to the others. “Last night while most the castle readied for bed, in a ceremony not unlike the one that bound his mother and father before his own birth, King Jon stood before the great weirwood tree and was wed to his lady wife, Sansa Stark!”

There was a sharp rise in chatter, Jon and Sansa sharing a glance. She wore the intended consternation while he simply smiled at her. Thankfully it looked as if she was worried about the announcement while he seemed to go with and accept it, reaching over to take her hand on the table. 

Sansa knew he wouldn’t look to Daenerys, so she let her eyes drift over and saw Daenerys had turned her head away every so slightly, likely looking as a wall. Tyrion, like most of her party, look unsurprised by the news. Most of the lords in the hall had clearly heard it, but the confirmation shocked them. 

“To Sansa Stark and Aegon Targaryen!”

“The King of the North!” A few lords called out while raising their glasses. 

Throughout the rest of their meal they heard plenty of conversations.

“To think we’d ever doubted he was a Targaryen! Of course he wouldn’t care if she’d been his sister.”

“No doubt he’s Rhaegar’s, either! Stole away to marry a Stark girl in secret. Maybe he’s more dragonblood than we think!”

The most embarrassing for Sansa were the maids they overheard walking back to their chambers.

“That explains the howling I heard this morning.”

“And her sheets,” another said with a giggle. 

Inside her chambers they sat with goblets of wine. After downing half of hers, Sansa looked to him. “It went better than I thought.”

Jon had been quiet through the day and remained it with a nod as he took a sip.

Sansa frowned. “Is it Daenerys?” 

He met her eyes with a solemn smile. “No, not for a while.”

“Then what?”

He tapped the rim of his goblet, looking at her. “This… I know I shouldn’t think it, but this could be our last night together.”  
She reached across the table to take his hand. 

“If anything happens, you’ll be queen,” he said meeting her gaze. “You’ll lose my claim, but hopefully I’ll be able to garner enough favor before I die that whatever happens you’ll have people supporting you. Enough to keep the north independent or get the lords to follow you if you bend the knee.”

“You won’t die, Jon,” she said firmly. “Tomorrow you’ll leave and in a few months you’ll return the hero I always knew you were.”

“Even when we were kids?” He asked teasingly.

Sansa sighed. “Since Castle Black.”

He turned his hand, interlacing his fingers with her and smiling. “Since Castle Black.”

Sansa smiled, daring not hope the slight implication was anything but assumed on her end. Instead she continued. “You’ll return a hero with a dozen songs and twice as many new epithets, and hopefully I’ll greet you with a belly holding your child, waiting for you to return to be born.” It was clear he liked the idea. “And when you do we’ll negotiate for half the kingdom and live out the rest of our lives in as much peace as we can.”

Setting his goblet aside, Jon smiled. “Perhaps we should get to work on making that come true.”

Sansa smiled, quickly downing another mouthful of wine before setting it aside. With hours since they’d last been together he’d managed to regain enough strength for a night similar to the one before. Her body ached in the best way possible and she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder, his arm around her shoulders, and her hand on her stomach, willing his seed to take hold.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Spilling three more times that morning, Jon departed for his room and gathered his things. He dressed in the black and gray armor Gendry had forged for him, a wolf and dragon head back to back across the chest while his helmet had a vaguely wolfish design. To his surprise, he found a new cloak waiting on his bed, much like the one Sansa had made him when they left Castle Black, only with an engraved sigil matching the one on his armor. 

He entered the courtyard with Longclaw on his hip and his helmet in his left hand. The murmurs quieted as he passed, lords and ladies bowing to him and making room for him. 

Eventually he came to find Sansa stood beside Bran while Arya and Gendry stood beside them, Sansa smiling as Jaime and Brienne walked toward the gate. 

When she spotted Jon, her face lit up. Coming to a stop before them she curtsied, “Lord Husband.”

“Lady Wife,” he said with a nod. 

“Uck,” Arya bemoaned, crossing her arms while Gendry smiled. 

Even Bran’s normally vacant expression had given way to a solemn smile. Jon looked to him, patting his shoulder. “Look out for them while we’re gone, brother.”

“I’ll do my best,” he assured. “Keep an eye out for ravens. Listen for their cries. I’ll do what I can from here.”

“And I’ll do what I can out there.” Jon nodded.

When he turned to Sansa she looked him over with a hint of pride, so he teasingly tugged on his cloak strap. “I found this on my bed mysteriously.”

“Perhaps one of the maids is a secret admirer,” said innocently. 

She then looked down, a bit anxious before reaching into her bodice to remove a handkerchief. He noticed her cheeks were rosy. 

“I know it childish,” she said looking at the ground as she held it out for him. 

He took it and looked the embroidery over. Ghost ran across the bottom while a similarly colored dragon soared across the top. At the center was a large weirwood tree with a smiling face. “It’s perfect.”

Sansa smiled. “That’s kind of you to say.”

He looked to her and shook his head, stepping closer and showing it to her. “There’s ghost, right? My Stark side, all of you. And then the white dragon, the ghost of a family I’ll never know. And at the center you.”

That caught her attention, making her look up. “Me?”

He brushed his fingers across her cheek, slipping through her hair. “Pale skinned and crimson haired. My weirwood wife.”

Clearly having not intended that, Sansa was pleased. “I’m glad.”

The her shock, and the shock of the many onlookers, Jon leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. He’d been awkward again with his farewell kiss as he departed her room, but this would be their last, he wouldn’t let his concerns taint it. 

Her hand pressed against the cool steel of his armor, the other clutching a piece of her jerkin, keeping him close as she returned it. When they parted, he kept his hands in her hair, smiling solemnly as he guided her hand down and pressed his lips to her forehead, mouthing something unheard. 

When she raised her hand he placed a kiss on her cheek and released her, tucking the favor into his jerkin. “I’ll keep it near my heart alongside you, Sansa.”

“And I’ll keep you in mine as well, Jon.”

With a bow of his head he turned and strode from the gates. Where others would stop to look back to their ladies, she didn’t expect him to and he didn’t, yet she still smiled. Few might have noticed the slight shift of his head that gave way to a subtle shake, talking himself out of it.

Like many of those left at Winterfell to wait it out, Sansa made her way to the ramparts to watch the army leave. In the distance, near the front of the mass of men, she could see a man in dark armor and cloak riding ahead of them with a white wolf at his side. 

“They’ll return, Lady Sansa,” Sam assured. “Jon always comes back.”

Remembering the scars across his chest, she couldn’t help but nod.


	9. The Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Long Night comes, and with it a dozen new titles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As soon as I started this, I knew I’d gloss over the wars. They’re not the point of the story, so apologies if you were looking forward to them. Instead once I started, I decided to challenge myself and try to make up for the lack of details by having the titles he earns give hints of what happens during each. 
> 
> Also, I couldn’t help but throw in the Euron’s horn. He could have been so awesome., I had to give him something.

They’d known Viserion was revived. They knew of the beasts, and even suspected the ice spider’s of legend. And yet the war had been as hard as they’d feared. 

The sun stopped rising during the third week, and the Black Winter began. Across the world snow fell in the darkened day. No one was certain the number, but there was little doubt that a hundred thousand died within the first months. Few were prepared for one week of a harsh winter, but months had driven even some who’d prepared to starvation or such despair they took their own lives.

Time lost meaning without a sun, leaving only the pyres and flames of war to guide Jon through the Long Night. 

Sansa was right. He had songs written about him, at least one for every epithet he gained and another for those he already had. 

He’d earned Dragonslayer during their first battle. Drogon had pulled Viserion from the sky, throwing the Night King what had seemed to be miles away. Dany barely managed to hang on when they crashed to the ground. Three hundred men turned to ash in the swirl of of their clashing flames, but Jon ran through it all and thrust Longclaw into Viserion’s chest alongside a dragonglass dagger. 

Four days later the Night King stood behind a battalion of undead atop a wight horse, watching as Jon clashed with another of his generals. 

The first time they saw him fight, the Night King shoved a sword through Gray Worm, who instantly gained blue eyes. Daenerys had been distraught when he came after her, Jorah taking a spear through his chest and managing to cut down Gray Worm and two wights before Daenerys tearfully whispered, “Dracarys.” He and a hundred wights turned to ash before her.

It was barely a day later that they were camped when they felt the rumble and heard the horn followed by Drogon’s sudden scream. Daenerys tried to calm him, but he was crazed, flying through the air, breathing fire across both their armies and the Golden Company Euron brought to fight them. Euron had even managed to mount Drogon, but by the time he’d taken flight, Jon had mounted Rhaegal and went to meet him. 

Their clash was brief, the brother dragons slamming into each other, giving Jon room to leap on Drogon’s back and drive Longclaw through Euron’s chest. He held the horn while Euron’s corpse fell to the earth, but then it stood again as a group of wights rushed them. Sandor Clegane killed his twice risen brother, and when the wights all fell the Golden Company and Lannister army joined theirs. Jon had also gained the epithets Emerald Wings and Dragon Rider. 

The Walking Wall came during their first retreat. They all separated to meet again, but Jon’s company had attracted most of the forces that attacked them. Once they’d come to an enclosed pass, Jon remained, telling the others to retreat. Jaime Lannister and Eddison Tullett were among the small band that remained. 

They were missing a day, finally returning with only two men lost. When asked what happened, Jaime Lannister laughed and looked to where Jon was being nearly hugged to death by Arya. “I pity the man who ever insults his family.”

Arya would claim the most kills at once apart from a dragon, though plenty teased her it didn’t count to kill a White Walker which just happened to make a hundred wights crumble. Of course she’d say they were just jealous of her precision. 

It was an attempt to repeat it that caused her to get the scar from her shoulder to the middle of her collar. That was also the battle where Jon earned the names Fury of the North, Ice Breaker, The Winter Storm, The White Wind, The Raging Wind, and the White Dragon. In the two battles Arya was unconscious, he earned The Unwavering, The Vigilant, The Winter Shield and Spearbreaker. 

She stood at his side through every battle after, only leaving her when paired with one of his inner circle. Yet he never held her back, supporting her, acting as her vanguard while she covered his back. Together where the Winter Warriors and Stark Swords. 

The final battle came and lasted what felt like a day, but could have been minutes or a week with how distorted their sense of time was. When the sun rose for the first time in months, Jon was unconscious, and woke to even more titles. 

The Night Breaker. The Morning Star. The Waking Dawn. The Risen Son. The Winter King. The Day King. The King of the Dawn.

And he was only days from Winterfell when he was given the title Father.


	10. Dawn Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn breaks and Jon returns to Winterfell ready to live a life of peace and happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the last section is taken from or similar to a fic I wrote but haven’t posted but may one day. I know it’s a bit sudden and peters out quick, but I felt the first part more important than what came after for this particular story and what I was trying to do. Hopefully it's not too bad.

Jon Snow had broken nearly every vow he took. Why should a self imposed one be any different? 

Jon had been furious at Daenerys for keeping it secret. Protecting her had earned him a few more scars, but each was worth it for the day Rhaena was born. Part of him wanted to send her off with Daenerys atop Drogon just so she could be safe in Winterfell, but he couldn’t, no matter how much Daenerys assured him it would be fine. 

However she did take a small guard and ride ahead the day Winterfell came into view. The armies had to move slow, meaning they would have arrived in the middle of the night, so Daenerys rode ahead while Jon stayed with the men. He didn’t sleep much, staying late into the night at the border of the camp, staring off at the broken horizon. 

When they rode into Winterfell, Sansa stood beside Dany, who held Rhaena as her side. They’d barely dismounted when Arya rushed up to shove Jon and pointed at Sansa’s enlarged stomach. “What the hell?”

“I told you she was pregnant,” he argued. 

“She’s my sister!” Arya huffed, rushing over to check on her and hug Bran. 

Gendry patted Jon’s shoulder with a pitying sigh, letting him lead the way while Daenerys went to greet some of her men who joined Jon among the first to return. 

Jon waved to Rhaena, who stared at him with bright violet eyes, following his path to Sansa. Once he was in front of her, she nearly knocked him over by throwing her arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

He rubbed her back as she cried into his neck, kissing her cheek. He reached into his jerkin and removed the handkerchief she’d given him months earlier, staind with blood and mud, with only a few small tears along the edge. He offered it to her to wipe her face, but the sight of it just made her turn and cling to his neck. She might have choked him if he hadn’t adjusted his neck once it got too tight. 

When she finally wiped her face, she snickered. “Sorry. I’ve been a mess for weeks.”

Jon placed his hand on her stomach, smiling as he met her eyes. “I guess we got what we wanted.”

“We did,” she nodded.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

“The songs have it all twisted,” Sansa told him with a smile as they returned to her chambers after a small feast to welcome him home. 

“What are they saying?” He asked with a laugh, wrapping his arms around her from behind. 

“They say you were always in love with me,” she answered, leaning her head back against his shoulder. “That as children we hid our feelings in shame, that you laid with the Dragon Queen because she was the only beauty comparable to me, who you saw as a half-sister. Then, one you learned the truth of your parents, you broke it off to be with me, your true love.”

He kissed her neck, smirking. “Not the truth… but not too far from it in the end.”

She looked back beaming as she reached for his cheek and kissed him. 

Eddgar Stark was born weeks later. Daenerys claimed a desire to extend their negotiations, but it was clear she wanted to stay for his birth. She spent the day after showing Rhaena her little brother, telling her she’d fly her here to see him whenever she wanted. 

For all people said Sansa looked like her mother Jon was thankful she was nothing like Lady Catelyn. Sansa loved Rhaena like one of her own. Jon would ride to King’s Landing and return the next day with Rhaena for her stay in the north. When Eddgar was old enough they took him to King’s Landing, letting him spend time with his sister and mother-aunt, as he’d come to call her. Sansa had cried when Rhaena first called her mother, though she’d been pregnant with Aryana at the time. 

The last time Jon Snow broke one of his vows was when Sansa had told him, “I won’t miss my daughter’s coronation.” 

Their entire family went to King’s Landing, with Bran staying behind and assuring them he would see it all from home. Sansa wore as much pride as Daenerys when Rhaena was crowned Queen of the Southern Kingdoms. And months later they traveled north as Eddgar was named King in the North. 

With the burdens of royalty, the great war and everything they held finally cast aside, Jon rode with Sansa and their youngest children to Queenscrown, which he’d had rebuilt for her. A home for them to grow old and live the rest of their days happier than the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this because as much as I like reading Jonsa fics I hate how much people contort the characters. Dany becomes a psychopathic tyrant. Jon becomes a bumbling idiot who never deserves to lead, grovels at Sansa’s feet begging forgiveness, or is playing Dany all along. Sansa becomes some master schemer and strategist. It ends up seeming bitter and makes the stories worse. It’d be like making a canon based Eddard have more bastards than Robert and plotting for Petyr’s betrayal so he could have someone else kill him to escape a loveless marriage with Catelyn.
> 
> So I’ve tried to tell a quick Jonsa story where the characters might be a bit OOC but they hopefully aren’t wildly changed and don’t suddenly become assholes. I’d love to see more stories use Jon/Alayne as a start for Jonsa, based on the books or using the fifth suitor theory, but hopefully this can show that you can still make show universe Jonsa without destroying the characters.


End file.
